Review

Book Review — Choke by Chuck Palahniuk

Highlights

All these people who say they want a life free from sexual compulsion, I mean forget it. I mean, what could ever be better than sex? For sure, even the worst blow job is better than, say, sniffing the best rose laugh. watching the greatest sunset. Hearing children I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a hot- gushing, butt-cramping, gut-hosing orgasm. Painting a picture, composing an opera, that's just something you do until you find the next willing piece of ass. The minute something better than sex comes along, you call me. Have me paged.

The point was, it's not the sex part of pornography that hooked the stupid little boy. It was the confidence. The courage. The complete lack of shame. The comfort and genuine honesty. The up-front-ness of being able to just stand there and tell the world: Yeah, this is how I chose to spend a free afternoon. Posing here with a monkey putting chestnuts up my ass. And I really don't care how I look. Or what you think. So deal with it. He was assaulting the world by assaulting himself. And even if the guy wasn't loving every moment, the ability to smile, to fake your way through this, that would be even more admirable.

The same way every porno movie implies a score of people standing just off camera, knitting, eating sandwiches, looking at their wristwatches, while other people do naked sex only a few feet away To the stupid little boy, that was enlightenment. To be that comfortable and confident in the world, that would be Nirvana. "Freedom" isn't the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind. That's the kind of pride and self-assurance the little boy wanted to have. Someday. If it was him in those pictures with the monkey, he could look at them every day and think: If I could do this, I could do anything. No matter what else you came up against, if you could smile and laugh while a monkey did you with chestnuts in a dank concrete basement and somebody took pictures, well, any other situation would be a piece of cake.

Even hell. More and more, for the stupid little kid, that was the idea... That if enough people looked at you, you'd never need any- body's attention ever again. That if someday you were caught, exposed, and revealed enough, then you'd never be able to hide again. There'd be no dif- ference between your public and your private lives. That if you could acquire enough, accomplish enough, you'd never want to own or do another thing. That if you could eat or sleep enough, you'd never need more. That if enough people loved you, you'd stop needing love. That you could ever be smart enough. That you could someday get enough sex. These all became the little boy's new goals. The illusions hed have for the rest of his life. These were all the promises he saw in the fat man's smile. So after that, every time he was scared or sad or alone, every night he woke up panicked in a new foster home, his heart rac- ing, his bed wet, every day he started school in a different neigh- borhood, every time the Mommy came back to claim him, in every damp motel room, in every rented car, the kid would think of those same twelve photos of the fat man bent over. The mon- key and the chestnuts. And it calmed the stupid little shit right down. It showed him how brave and strong and happy a person could become. How torture is torture and humiliation is humiliation only when you choose to suffer. "Savior" isn't the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind. And it's funny how when somebody saves you, the first thing you want to do is save other people. All other people. Everybody. The kid never knew the man's name. But he never forgot that smile. "Hero" isn't the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind.

Why I do this is to put adventure back into people's lives. Why I do this is to create heroes. Put people to the test. Like mother, like son. Why I do this is to make money. Somebody saves your life, and they'll love you forever. It's that old Chinese custom where if somebody saves your life, they're re- sponsible for you forever. It's as if now you're their child. For the rest of their lives, these people will write me. Send me cards on the anniversary. Birthday cards. It's depressing how many people get this same idea. They call you on the phone. To find out if you're feeling okay. To see if you maybe need cheering up. Or cash.

my mom in St. Anthony's Care Center costs around three grand each month. These Good Samaritans keep me alive. I keep her. It's that simple. You gain power by pretending to be weak. By contrast, you make people feel so strong. You save people by letting them save you. All you have to do is be fragile and grateful. So stay the un derdog. People really need somebody they feel superior to. So stay downtrodden. People need somebody they can send a check at Christmas. So stay poor. "Charity" isn't the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind. You're the proof of their courage. The proof they were a hero. Evidence of their success. I do this because everybody wants to save a human life with a hundred people watching.